Knowing I am Responsible
by Atsuyuri-sama
Summary: Albert is left to take care of Ivan, and some things come to light. preexisting 24, past Albert/Hilda


**Title: Knowing I am Responsible**

**Rating:** T (16+)

**Summary:** Albert is left to take care of Ivan, and some things come to light.

**Warnings:** mentions of suicidal thoughts, mentions of Hitler Youth, past minor character death, hurt/comfort, gratuitous foreign language

**A/N:** Again, another tumblr fic, this one inspired by the post at octapocalypse's tumblr(dotcomslash)post(slash)95488966939/i-had-this-idea-at-like-3-in-the-morning-thats-why . Also, don't forget: my cyborgs speak in their native tongues/hear the native languages when the speaker get emotional enough, so put your gratuitous language helmets on (and, please, notify me if I've gotten something wrong. The last thing I want to do is do a disservice to another language by mangling it needlessly!).

At first, he'd suspected Françoise of scheming; she knew he'd never taken care of a baby before.

_Why_ her scheme – whatever it was – involved having _him_ take care of Ivan was lost on Albert… But she had done it for a _reason,_ and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what that reason or not was. She could be a frightening woman, as he'd been taught over and over again as the decades in her presence went by.

Albert would never begrudge Joe his choices, that was for sure.

But as the minutes in a silent household ticked by, and Ivan didn't need him for anything, Albert relaxed. There had always been someone with some experience just a yelp away, and he hadn't had to worry for more than a couple of minutes, at least, the couple of times he'd been handed an infant. And he cared about the smallest member of their patchwork family. He would hate himself if he messed it up, or hurt Ivan somehow.

Periodically, Albert would glance up from his book and check that Ivan, snuggled deep in his bassinet, hadn't telekinetically wandered off or needed anything. The boy always looked the same: tiny, still, and content. So Albert grew comfortable that Ivan was alright, and slowly delved deeper into his novel.

… It wasn't his fault he'd forgotten he was on babysitting duty.

Between one moment and the next, a faint blue glow surrounded his book and lifted it out of his hands. Albert blinked in confusion, and not a little bit of annoyance, when Ivan telepathically closed his book. Then he remembered just what it was he was supposed to be doing, and winced, turning toward his charge.

Pinching the bridge of his nose as two parts anxiety, one part concern, and one part affection suffused him, Albert hummed, "What is it, 001?"

A simple glance at the cyborg in question revealed the answer. Tiny hands had emerged from the bundle of bassinet-blanket-and-baby in the universal signal of children everywhere: pick me up. Just in case Albert hadn't caught his drift, Ivan requested calmly, _Up._

Albert found himself surprised, and caught a little off guard – Ivan knew well enough how to levitate, and why was he speaking in monosyllables? Both were uncharacteristic of the brilliant telepath; Ivan was supremely self-sufficient for a person in his rather unique position, and (as an infant-become-telepath) actually had all the words in Albert's own vocabulary at his arsenal with which to make himself known mentally.

That said, a request so obviously and oddly made was a request all the same. "Okay…"

Even as he was reaching into Ivan's bassinet, it occurred to Albert that – even if he was only fulfilling a request – he honestly had no idea what he was doing. A flutter of memories – mothers on the street, the other cyborgs' own interactions with Ivan – bombarded Albert, and a dozen variations on baby-handling with them. His fingers wrapped around Ivan's sides (gently, always calculate gently – without a proper sense of touch, something this simple could go so wrong so fast), and before he knew it, Albert was simply hefting Ivan up to eye-level as-is.

Feeling a bit lost, he prompted cautiously, "Okay, what?"

Fittingly, eyes decades too old for the plump face they occupied stared flatly at him. Even if Ivan wasn't broadcasting his thoughts to Albert, it was plain what lines the baby cyborg was thinking along: _What are you doing? Do you even know what a baby is? What is this, mysophobia take-one, baby edition? Who taught you about baby handling, and where can I find them to teach them the error of their ways?_

Once more, in an oddly infantile display of communication, Ivan held his arms out to Albert in invitation and question instead of just asking telepathically. For a moment – one long enough that, had Ivan had the attention span of his physical age, would have resulted in one fussy and wiggly baby – Albert went still and Ivan was left to dangle in the air. But that gesture was even more unmistakable than the last, because it continued out of infancy and was found in all ages and walks of life.

_Please hug me._

Gingerly, Albert drew Ivan in close. Instinctively, one arm slid across Ivan's tiny back, and the other slipped under his diapered butt, both supporting him and holding him near. This time, Albert didn't even have a chance to sort out the confusion this caused; Ivan's miniature arms wrapped around his neck, and warm puffs of breath (and a touch of drool) painted the crook of his neck. The heavy warmth of a child's body in his arms, the simplicity of a child's affection, filled Albert from the inside out, and at last his shoulders lost the nervous tension that babysitting had instilled.

Slowly, Albert settled back into the sofa with Ivan still in his arms. Together, they huddled in a mutual embrace, and Albert was mildly surprised to find himself slowly rocking side to side. It was nice. It was quiet. He… could get used to this, actually. Still… "How do parents do it, knowing they're responsible for such a tiny existence?"

_The real thing's not exactly like this._ Ivan finally broke their silence after some time had passed, unaccounted. _A real baby'd be much more fussy about it; they're louder, and smellier, and just a whole lot less understanding of others. But sometimes, when they get sleepy, or they're happy, or you've caught them at just the right moment, having a baby can be just like this._

And those words set a light bulb off over Albert's head. Honestly, he didn't know why he hadn't made the connections earlier. Just a few nights ago, he'd been talking about this very thing…

**-KIR-**

_"… I wasn't thinking about it when we crashed. Really, I didn't think about it for **months**. If I had, I am almost certain I would have attempted suicide, back then."_

_Albert hadn't been aware he was actually speaking until Jet was in his face about it, blue eyes large in horror and luminous in the light of the reading lamp on Albert's side of the bed._

_It had been a subject that had been haunting him more and more lately. He'd been rehearsing in his head how to start; it was high-time he told someone, and who better than the one he trusted with his mind, body, heart, and soul? But he certainly hadn't been meaning to start it off on **this** foot!_

_"What…?"_

_Albert flinched at the raw emotion in Jet's whisper. The redhead had come clean more than once about his own early history in Black Ghosts hands, and how (before Françoise and Albert showed up) he'd often thought of just ending it all right there. So there was no mistaking that Jet knew where he was coming from, but that didn't mean that – here and now, when they were both in a **much** better frame of mind and state of life – it didn't tear the American apart._

_"_Cosa hai detto?_ When was this?! Albert?" And Jet's hands were pulling his paperback loose and catching up his own, tangling their fingers together. Jet's entire face was intense, and Albert wondered if the other assumed he was bringing up suicide because he was feeling low. It wouldn't be the first time – not for him personally, but among others in their family, yes – so Jet had reason to be concerned._

_That possibly being the case, Albert cut off Jet's worries by starting, "No, _mein schatz_, I'm alright now, I promise. I'm here with you, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Forgive me, that was a horrible place to start; I wasn't thinking. I just…" and he trailed off, unsure how to keep going now that he'd started._

_Most of the tension had left Jet's body when Albert assured him of his state of mind. In the months they'd been lovers (in the years they'd known one another) Jet had learned how to tell when Albert was about to share some of his past. The German had lost a lot – his fiancé, his chance at freedom, his humanity, most of his body – and it often pained him to recall times **before**. But just as often, he was doing it because he wanted to share something beloved and meaningful with his closest friend, and then with his partner. So Jet had learned how to read Albert, and how to approach these situations with patience, because it really **meant** something when the closed off cyborg decided to open up. Jet settled back – without ever once letting go of Albert's hands – and waited._

_"It was illegal, during the times of war, for a German to marry a Jew. You know this; by now, most of the world knows this." Albert breathed deeply, remembering._

_"I came from a proud German family, one who felt that Hitler had the right of it. I, of course, became a member of the_ _German Youth, and then Hilter's Youth, at my parents' insistence. I was taught, there, to be a soldier. I was told to bully others, to not help the weak ones. It would strengthen those who were left, they said, and weed out the hopeless. They encouraged violence in us. I tried it, only once. That other boy still felt human to me, his anguish too real, and in that moment, I hated what I was being taught to stand for."_

_Parts of this, Jet had already been told – specific tales of his short time in German Youth and years in Hitler's Youth, memories of the middle of the war, the impressions of a child faced with violence – but it was part of the story. He had to explain why he'd gotten to that point; retracing his steps was an old coping mechanism._

_"But I was smart: If I started speaking out against _das Hitlerjugend_, and later,_ der Führer,_ I would have worse than just angry parents. So I kept low, and quiet, and reminded myself day in and day out that one day I would be old enough to leave. And that was when I met Hilda. I fell in love with her, and I thought we could marry and leave the war behind. Then I learned that she was a Jew; I didn't love her any less, but that didn't stop my people. _Sie wollte nicht hören!_"_

_Albert paused, overcome by emotion. All the same, the sight of pale, long-fingered hands in his own kept him grounded. He squeezed them loosely in thanks, breathed deeply, and continued, voice shaking slightly._

_"Because of who she was, we had to be more careful than what I'd assumed. We couldn't just get married and then leave… Hell, we couldn't have done that even if she weren't a Jew; things were too tight, and too tightly watched, as the second war came around! We would have to sneak out. But again: you know how that turned out. And it's even worse than all that – there's a reason I had to force myself not to think, lest I contemplate death, that was more than just the fact that the woman I'd given it all up for was dead._

_"You see, we'd been together for years. As far as we were concerned, law or no law Jewish or not, we were wed. And the day that we set out to flee for our lives, she told me… Hilda told me…!" Albert's voice broke, and he curled in on himself. This was what he'd been aiming for, this was what had been pressing at him recently, and this was the hardest part. Jet leaned forward, engaged now, and pulled Albert into his arms. Albert went with a shuddering sob._

_"What, Albert?" Jet crooned, concern making him more careful than he might have been. The redhead's long frame curled over Albert, and provided a needed barrier from the world. "_Che c'è, cara?_"_

_"… She was pregnant. I was a **father,** Jet!" Albert loosed a bitter, hateful chuckle. "It wasn't just my fiancé that died that day."_

_All around him, Jet had gone deadly still, and breathlessly quiet. Albert grasped at the strands of distraction that reality provided him, and turned his focus towards his distressed lover… anything was better than stewing in his own guilt and grief. He drew just far enough away that he could catch shocked eyes, and stroked Jet's cheek with a hand that still shook with grief._

_"Hey, Jet, look at me. Hey, _liebchen,_" he gripped Jet's chin, and familiar blue eyes turned to him, attentive, "I love her. I do. Nothing will ever stop that. And I also love you, equally eternally. I can love you both – differently – at the same time. I miss what I had with her, da. _Gott, ich vermisse sie!_ But Hilda is the **past;** you, **you** Jet Link, are my present. I love you. _Ich liebe dich._ I promise. Ja?"_

_A small, pained smile lifted the corner of Jet's mouth. "'Course I know that, _occhi d'acciaio._ I knew that when we started going out. It's just—You know it hits me harder when you talk like that, is all. And I hurt when you hurt; it was difficult to hear you in such pain. It always is."_

_The grin grew a bit more genuine, a touch more affectionate, "That doesn't mean I want you to stop sharing, and you know it, just to head that off. I just wasn't ready for a confession like that. I'm okay. Are you? What brought this on?"_

_"Mm-hm. It's just… Knowing I was responsible for more than one death. And who they were…!" he breathed in Jet's scent, reminding himself of now. "Françoise."_

_"I—Fran? How?" but he cut himself off before Albert had to answer, "Of course; Ivan. Right? But why now?"_

_"I don't know," Albert sighed, leaning into Jet's side now, confident that Jet wasn't going to fly off the handle (it had happened before; Albert had a hard time letting go of Hilda, and while Jet knew that, he also had a possessive streak a mile wide). "Maybe it's time I starting facing the last of it, though. I've told you everything else."_

_"Mm-hm." _

**-KIR-**

And that noncommittal hum was the last Jet said about it that night, or any night since.

Jet knew he'd been brooding. Ivan was a mind-reader, and – by proxy – the unofficial counselor of their family. He was also, ironically, the point of pressure in Albert's issue. Then this happens.

"Thank you, Ivan_._"

_This is what family is for, right? If it helps, I'm willing to oblige._ the tiny form in his lap wriggled pointedly for a moment, settling more comfortably, _Besides, it's nice to act my age once in a while. It's no problem for me, to put myself in a position to be pampered._

Albert laughed, and if it had a couple of tears in there, Ivan would never tell.

They thought he was still asleep, when Jet came back and asked Ivan how it went. Presumably Ivan answered, because Jet's response – while too quiet to make out through his drowsy state – was smug and delighted in turns. Ivan made no move to vacate his seat, though, so Albert felt no compunction about remaining right as he was, if only for a little while longer.

It got better when Jet slipped in beside him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling he and Ivan in close. Albert really did left himself fall back asleep, the warm weight in his arms and at his side more of a balm on his soul than he knew what to do with.

"_Danke, liebling._"

**-KIR-**

_Cosa hai detto?_ – (Italian) What did you say?

_Mein liebchen/schatz_ – (German) _"_my sweetheart/dear/honey"; a term of gentle affection, often for family members/loved ones

_das Hitlerjugend_ – (German) the Hitler Youth

_der Führer_ – (German) the Leader

_Sie wollte nicht hören!_ – (German) They wouldn't listen!

_Che c'è, cara?_ – (Italian) What is it, dear?

_Gott, ich vermisse sie!_ – (German) God, I miss her!

_Ich liebe dich._ – (German) I love you.

_Ja_ – (German) yes

_occhi d'acciaio_ – (Italian) steel eyes [it seemed likely that Jet would have a pet name for Albert]

_Danke_ – (German) Thank you

Thanks go to ZeeCaptein, and a guest, for alerting me to some linguistic mistakes! You people are awesome!


End file.
